Kalidasa’s (4-5th century CE) Meghadutam or The Cloud Messenger is a lustrous gem of a poem ideal for enjoyment during the Monsoons. My cherished copy was bought from the Murree hill station many monsoons ago and evokes happy memories with its faint biscuity fragrance & passages lovingly underlined. This poem had even inspired me to write one of my own as a tribute to Kalidasa and his ability to create something so beautiful and timeless. This volume contains Meghadutam, the poem Ṛtusaṃhāram, and Kalidasa's celebrated play Abhijñānaśākuntalam), popularly known as Shakuntala, which became a huge success in the west after its multiple translations.
Meghadūta or Meghadūtam (The Cloud Messenger) is one of Kālidāsa's most celebrated poems and a classic of Sanskrit literature. Evocative, lyrical, beautifully descriptive, replete with delicate explorations of the emotions of love and longing, sensual and aesthetically erotic, it tells of a Yaksa or nature spirit banished from the land by his master, persuading a cloud to carry a message to his pining partner in the northern city of Alaka. What we get as a result is a sweeping exploration of a rich and varied landscape with wonderful descriptions of cities real and mythical, rivers, forests, mountains and palaces with minute details of human activity, pleasure-seeking, and anticipation of rain. It is like an exquisite Chinese long scroll painting that presents an unfolding panorama of mountain scapes, landscapes and waterscapes. Kalidas provides us loving details of local flowers, vines, trees and land features, divulging his minute ad deeply sensitive observation of nature. At the same time, the poem takes engages in a deep exploration of the human emotions of passion, desire, love and longing.
Here is a characteristic exhortation by the pining Yaksa to the Cloud to be indulgent towards young lovers:
'Young women going to their lovers' dwellings at night
set out on the royal highway mantled
in sight-obscuring darkness you could pierce with a pin;
light their path with streaked lightening
glittering like gold-rays on a touchstone,
but do not startle them with thunder and pelting rain
for they are easily alarmed.'
And here is a glimpse of a time when a celebration of things sensual, erotic and passionate was perhaps much more open and uninhibited, or perhaps it was a desire for things to be so:
'Where at sunrise the path followed at night
by amorous women hastening to midnight trysts
with faltering steps, is marked by telltale signs -
Mandara flowers fallen from playful curls
and petals of golden lotuses worn at the ears
dislodged, lie strewn on the ground, with pearls
scattered loose as the threads snapped
of bodice of pearls that closely held their breasts'
Ṛtusaṃhāram (The Gathering of Seasons) is another medium-length poem in this volume. There is dispute as to whether it is even penned by Kalidasa or whether it is an early work by him. It lacks the exalted elegance and finesse of Meghadūtam as it tends to be less subtle and often somewhat repetitive. Nevertheless, it has its moments in its unabashed celebration of seasons, sensuality, erotica and love-making, with its descriptions of every season intertwined with passion or lack thereof. In six Cantos - Summer; Rains; Autumn; The Season of Frosts; Winter; and Spring, it describes how the weather affects the moods of lovers, the flora and fauna, and the rites and rituals of life. Again there is detail of description that makes the poem authentic and exotic and a great representative of its particular locale. This translation is not the most lyrical but it is said to convey quite comprehensively the full spectrum of meaning in the original. I can well imagine, however, how glorious these poems would be in Sanskrit.
Finally this volume contains Kālidāsa's highly celebrated play Abhijñānaśākuntalam), also known as Shakuntala (The Recognition of Shakuntala or The Sign of Shakuntala) which dramatizes a story from the Mahābhārata. The plot is relatively straight-forward. The valiant king Dushyanta comes across the maiden Shakuntala while hunting in the forest, falls head over heels in love with her and finds reciprocity, enters into wedlock through the Gandharva rite, and returns to his kingdom with the promise to have her brought over very soon. However, under a curse by an irate sage he forgets all about her. She gives birth to his son and is sent to his court by her foster father who is an exalted ascetic, in order to be reclaimed. He is courteous but has no recollection and is therefore averse to embracing someone he is not certain of being his wife. Spurned and distraught Shakuntala is taken to live in the realm of the gods as her mother Menaka is an apsara. A signet ring gifted to her eventually finds its way to the King who then remembers and is deeply anguished by remorse, finds further favor with the gods by fighting on their behalf against a race of titans, and wins glory as well as a happy reunion with his wife and child.
The timeless skill, beauty and merit of this seven Act play however lies in how it wonderfully evokes an idyllic and sylvan life in the jungle hermitages in the foot-hills of the Himalayas; the descriptions of the hermit-groves/groves of righteousness/penance groves inhabited by the sages, the delightful descriptions of local flora and fauna and their association with human emotions and sentiments, the burgeoning romance between the king and the damsel, the deep sorrow with which the forest dwellers - humans and beasts (including a doe adopted by her as a son and called 'Liquid-Long-Eyes') - bid farewell to Shakuntala, Shakuntala's anguish at being repudiated by her husband, Dushyanta's deep remorse when he realizes his mistake, reflections on the demands and duties of kingship, the Brahmanic briefs and rites of the time, and the aerial chariot journey to and from celestial lands. The dialogue is lyrical, there is wit as well as pathos, and the whole play is steeped in the spirit of romance.
Delicate and subtle are the observations as love overpowers Dushyanta. He says at one point that he can tell that a beautiful girl has just passed an avenue of young trees because:
'The cups of flowers she has just plucked
have not as yet sealed themslves
and these tender shoots, broken off,
are still moist with their milky sap'
At another point he gazes upon her and remarks:
'she appears in the midst of ascetics,
a tender sprout amongst yellowing leaves'
Seven as he confesses that, 'my mind hovers uncertain, like a bee,' he comes to the conclusion that, 'a gem is sought for, it does not seek.'
The selection I have is called 'The Loom of Time' and time appears to melt away as one reads the words of a poet from fifteen hundred years ago who saw and captured such beauty, longing and passion in the ephemeral spectacle of the world and preserved it with such skill and feeling that it resonates still.